Romancing Her Rival - Joanna Barker Page 0,32

of Daphne, the one that could turn a sentence faster than even Aunt Hartwell. It felt like she was coming back to him, piece by piece, day by day—the friend he had missed.

The woman he’d grown to love.

Daphne’s skin was warm, and she did not think it had anything to do with the fire in the grate.

Every time she glanced up at Cole to find the next angle of her cut, she ended up looking at him far longer than necessary. With the flames behind him, his features were mostly hidden in shadow, but his silhouette was perfectly clear—the lines of his lean jaw, the angles of his chin and nose, his strong forehead beneath his hair.

His lips.

Daphne swallowed, focusing again on the paper and scissors in her hands. She carefully made another small cut—the dip of his chin—and then Cole spoke.

“So tell me,” he said, “what have you learned about me so far? Surely my profile cannot betray how much I enjoy plum pudding.”

Daphne exhaled a laugh. “Perhaps if your silhouette included your stomach. Although a preference for sweets is not reflective of your character, Mr. Everard.”

“All right, then, what has my profile revealed about my character? What would your Mr. Lavater say about me?”

Daphne set down her paper and scissors, chewing on her bottom lip. In truth, she’d mostly skimmed Essays on Physiognomy, only paying close attention to the bits on shades. “If I recall correctly, he mentions a long, pointed nose is a sign of a childish fear.”

Cole raised one eyebrow, though he did not turn. “Two slights about my nose in one day? I have never been so aware of that appendage in my life, so I thank you for that.”

Daphne grinned. “I do not specifically apply that one to you. I was only trying to remember what he’d said. Your nose is…” She cleared her throat. “Perfectly fine.”

“A relief, to be sure. What else, dare I ask?”

The teasing in his voice encouraged her. “Mr. Lavater postures that if the head is longer than it is broad, then that suggests excessive obstinacy. I must agree he is quite right on that count.”

Cole’s lips twitched. “My father always said I was pig-headed. But come now, surely there must be a positive trait somewhere in that book.”

Daphne examined him again, her smile fading. Heavens, but she did not think she’d ever seen a silhouette quite like his. The strong, hard angles of his face were familiar to her, but somehow strange and unnerving in this intimate setting. Was it really possible to know a man from the shape of his face? In truth, she was entirely unconvinced one could really know a person even with a lifetime of knowledge.

“A high arch to the forehead,” she said quietly, “like you have, denotes generosity, or a sense of honor.”

Cole did not speak for a moment, then turned to face her directly, his eyes curious. “And would you agree with that?”

Her palms grew too warm, and she tightened her grip on the scissors, afraid they might slip from her fingers. She wanted to look away, but Cole’s eyes—flickering in the light—would not allow her to. “I might not have agreed a few weeks ago,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But opinions can change, can they not?”

He nodded, his hands resting on his thighs. “As can people.”

Daphne blinked. Did he mean her? She knew she hadn’t been terribly pleasant to him the first fortnight of her visit to Cheriton. But the way he now looked at her argued he had not meant his words as a reprimand. His gaze was warm and electrifying, like the first few notes of music before a dance began.

Footsteps came from behind her and Daphne tore her gaze from Cole’s, focusing again on her half-finished portrait that she’d abandoned on her lap. But her heartbeat sounded inside her, insistent, like church bells on Sunday.

“I finally found them,” Aunt Hartwell announced, coming to sit once again beside Daphne with her spectacles perched on her nose. “Hidden away in my sewing basket, of course, the most ridiculous place I could have left them considering my ineptness for needlework.” She peered over at Daphne’s work. “Why, you’ve hardly done anything since I left.”

Daphne cleared her throat. “Mr. Everard has been an extremely distracting and restless sitter, I’m afraid.”

Cole gave a bark of laughter, but Aunt Hartwell only nodded solemnly. “That he is. I ought to have warned you before I left.”

“I did not realize that a recounting